Darkest Lullaby
by Kneazle-Chan
Summary: Alternate ending to Shadows of Almia. Kate wasn't alone when she faced Darkrai. ...And President Blake wasn't alone when pulled into never-ending darkness. Keith struggles in the aftermath, and walks the fine line of being labelled insane. *Keith-centric* !Warning! - May become darker later on.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey y'all, I'm back after a very, very, VERY long absence. *Sweatdrops* I guess you could say I had to think some things over? PLEASE DON'T TORCH ME! Okay, so I'm really into Pokemon Ranger at this moment in time, and ever since I finished the game, this plot child would not leave me alone, and too be honest, I didn't want it to.**

**Basic Summary: It's an alternative story ending. All I will divulge (ohh, big word) is that Keith got caught in the dark world haze...thing...with Kate and this is kind of the aftermath.  
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**This will be multi-chaptered story. Disclaimer: I do NOT own Pokemon. Only the OC's I have thrown in to help the plot move along.  
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**Question of the day: How do you get the accent on top of the "e" in Pokemon? The only way I managed it in this story is that my laptop kept telling me I spelled it wrong and its suggested spelling had the accent in it.  
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**Hope you enjoy!  
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* * *

How had things gotten so bad?

Keith kicked his feet restlessly from his perch. He was sitting on the highest level the boat could offer, right on the edge of the deck, arms hung carelessly on the middle safety rail. He liked the rush it gave him, sitting so close to the edge, knowing he could end it all with one flick of the hands, and plummet to his death.

Well, maybe "like" was too strong a word to describe what he got out of this. It was necessary to keep control, always _be _in control. The ranger gear sitting innocently beside his hunched over figure was brought out of pure habit, not used to being left behind.

Keith's gaze shifted to stare listlessly at the Wingull flitting about on the deck below his dangling feet. If Kate were with him, he'd already be challenging her to see who could catch the most. Like they did with the Bidoof back at Ranger School. And he would watch those eyes, blessed with Kyogre's sea, flash and narrow as the girl's competitive streak came out to play.

Kate…

He jerked back from the rail as though his thoughts had reached out and turned the rail he was gripping red hot. Which by this point; it wouldn't surprise him in the least.

Keith exhaled slowly and placed a shaky hand on his forehead. Mildly warm. Which didn't surprise him either. After all, he was running on 15 hours of sleeps and caffeine for an entire week. His eyes shut involuntarily, and a small moan escaped his lips, one that he, if anyone else heard it, would've died of from embarrassment. The kind of breathless moan that never failed to make Keith's ears turn bright red. It was just that it…it made him sound so_ weak_ and _pathetic. _

"Are you alright there, son?"

…And cue the funeral music.

He didn't even bother to turn around; he already knew it was Steve Barton, the grandfatherly boat attendant. He was also the one who Chairperson Erma probably contacted via voicemail to keep an eye on Keith for the duration of the boat trip. With white hair and sharp silver eyes, the old man looked like a wringed out piece of paper though he could surprise a person with his strong grip and scrutinizing stare like he could pry out all your secrets.

Kind of like the one drilling into the back of his head right now. Keith wanted nothing more than to spin around and stick his tongue out in mutiny at the old geezer. He didn't need babysitting. And that's what bugged him the most. The fact that everyone treaded around him like he was broken glass and spoke to him gently like if they didn't, he would break further beyond repair. Please. He had a lot more control than _that. _Barton was just rubbing salt into the already aggravated wound.

Then he felt a stab of guilt and doubt. Alright, maybe that was a little on the unfair side. Maybe Barton really was just a friendly old man with the tendencies of a retired police officer.

_Yeah right_. And maybe Professor Hastings would dye his hair purple.

Ignoring the question, Keith let his eyes wander over the horizon. In the pre-dawn hours, one could see the beginnings of pinkish red and purple hues reach across the cloudless night sky like the sun was stretching awake. Like the dawn when Kate…. Keith flinched and swallowed dryly.

"Son?" a hand clapped onto his shoulder. Completely startled and not wanting to be touched, Keith yelped and tried lunging away from the hand. Unfortunately, he only succeeded in ramming his head into the safety rail.

Dazed, he ended up blinking stars out of his line of vision, clutching his forehead. A spectacular bruise was going to form later, he could _feel _it.

"Sorry there, son," the old man chuckled, "Didn't mean to frighten you."

Keith wanted to snap at the geezer to _leave him alone, _but there were at least three of Barton in his range of vision so he settled for glaring silent murder at the one on the left.

As if suddenly realizing his charge was going slightly cross-eyed while blinking rapidly, Barton kneeled down and shoved three fingers in front of the boy's face. "How many fingers, boy?"

Keith edged backwards as multiple fingers were shoved in his personal space. He blinked as the fingers from all three Bartons went in and out of focus. "Nine," he muttered.

"Oh lordy Arceus, Bertha is going to skin me," Barton fretted, hands flapping wildly.

Keith was a hairbreadth away from telling the old man in no uncertain terms he would do _much worse_ than his wife if he didn't _stop moving so much. Control….Control…_ He breathed in deeply while squeezing his eyes shut tightly. After counting backwards from ten extremely slowly and blocking out the old man's frantic babble, he opened his eyes again, and found his vision was better in the way that there were no more extra Bartons.

Forcing his lips to curl up in a smile, Keith managed to croak out, "Fine, M'fine."

The old man was leaning in his face again –Keith had to fight not to flinch away-, round silver eyes widening even further as he studied the boy's eyes.

"Are you sure? You can still see Bertha about it-," here the old man winced, "-if you want."

Standing up in order to regain a bit of control and _space, _Keith smiled even wider. "Nah," he shrugged as he discreetly clutched the railing to keep any and all dizziness at bay, "Not that big of a deal, just a bump is all."

The old man looked at him doubtfully, "If you say so, young man." He stood as well, ancient joints popping as he got up, grunting. He surveyed the boy through white bangs, noting the slumped shoulders and prominent dark bags under the youngster's brown eyes. He couldn't help, but wonder how much sleep the lad got working as a Pokémon Ranger.

…And what did that lad ever see that prompted such a haunted look? Steve wasn't an idiot. He'd seen enough in his days to recognize the signs of PTSD.

Nevertheless, Steve clapped a friendly and weathered hand onto the youth's shoulder, barely registering the suppressed flinch. _And why shouldn't he be a little freaked? _The old man thought ruefully. He'd used the hand that was missing a few fingers courtesy of a few mishaps in his sailing days.

"Get some sleep," Steve said, voice filled with grandfatherly warmth. The boy, not meeting his gaze, nodded briefly and brushed by. Steve didn't take it personally. After all, he could sympathize with the boy's sleeplessness what with Bertha's general moodiness and his grandchildren –twin boys- being in the infamous "terrible twos."

The rising sun made something gleam from his peripheral vision. He bent down and picked up what people today were calling "Capture Stylers." Turning it around in his aged hands, he realized that this wasn't the simple styler that he'd seen Pueltown or Fall City rangers use. This one, though it had the same red shade as other stylers, seemed like it wrapped around the wrist instead of being handheld.

He realized what it meant with a start, and glanced over sharply to the retreating figure. _Was this…_boy_…really a Top Ranger? _But…He was so _young! _Faintly, Steve recalled a newspaper heading a few months ago about a Gyarados attack in Summerland. The ranger that finally made the rampage stop was a boy around sixteen years of age with a Buizel as a partner. He'd had spiky brown hair and a determined chin jut in the blurry picture that reminded Steve so much of Bertha at the time.

He'd heard rumors that the youth had requested to be transferred to Almia when promoted, and after that, the youth had practically dropped off the face of the earth so Steve just went on with his business as he did every other day.

The ranger from the paper and the ranger in front of him were one and the same!

Unconsciously clutching the styler tighter, Steve cried out, "WAIT!"

The young man was halfway across the deck before Steve's cry froze him in his tracks. Without moving from his spot, the youth turned around slowly, looking unseeingly at the old man. Slightly unnerved at such a blank stare, Steve softened his voice with less urgency, "Wait just a moment young man. You forgot your styler." He held out the aforementioned item.

Slowly, the youth shook his head from whatever was plaguing his thoughts before retracing his steps towards Steve. Pausing about a foot away, the lad made no move to reclaim what was his through hard work. The old man was startled to find an almost _resigned _expression on the boy's features.

Recklessly on his part, the old man reached across the distance and grabbed the boy's lank hand, placing the styler inside, and firmly smoothing tan fingers on top of it.

"You can't lose this," he was murmuring to the boy who quite visibly tensed under his grip. Oh dear Arceus, what was he _doing_? "People look up to you rangers keeping the peace and all."

The lad's discomfort disappeared in place of the oddest smile. "It's nothing special," he told the old man, shrugging his shoulders in a nonchalant manner.

That was about the time when Steve's foot decided it was better off in its owner's mouth. "But you're that ranger who stopped the Gyarados rampage back in Summerland! You're a hero in the eyes of many!"

As though he's been slapped, the boy recoiled harshly, breaking the grip Steve had on his hand with an almost violent gesture. "I'm _no_ hero!" he spat, clenching his styler tightly in a white-knuckled hold, "How can I be when I ki-," he choked off from his sentence abruptly as if a bug had lodged itself in the boy's airway.

He spun angrily on his foot and stormed away only to pause suddenly at the entrance leading down into the cabins. So softly, Steve had to strain his ancient ears to hear it, the boy muttered, "How can I be a hero when I couldn't even save her?"

Her?

Steve blinked, but the boy was gone by then. He wondered briefly if he imagined that last part.

He sighed. He was too old for this sort of thing. Turning toward the rail, he contemplated the small favor Erma had asked of him the day the ship to the Fiore region had set sail. _"Watch the boy, will you?" _she'd asked him over the sea tavern's only voicemail receiver. _"Just make sure he doesn't do anything rash is all I ask." _

He wasn't given any specifics. He didn't expect he would. Erma was always like that when they were children too. Always keeping everything on a need-to-know basis until things really hit the metaphorical frying pan. Then she'd met Lamont and Hastings and those three went on to complete their shared dreams, leaving Steve behind with sailing his only option to feed his family.

He didn't hold anyone in accusation, especially not Erma. He had long gotten over his bitterness. Besides, it was through sailing that he'd managed to meet his wife, Bertha, at the Boyleland Harbor. He supposed that was all he could ever ask for.

A glance at the sun climbing its way steadily to its place in the sky said Bertha would not be amused in the least if he didn't move to do his chores now.

_Crazy, demanding women, _he grumbled as he started heading towards the crew's quarters, making a mental note to self to contact Erma the second they landed in Fall City's Harbor.

* * *

Keith shut the door to his room roughly, not caring who he woke up –why should he, when they were beginning to get up anyway? He would be helping them along.-, and flung himself across the gray-blanketed bed. The cabin was small, but modestly furnished with light gray steel walls, a wooden desk and chair bolted to the floor. The bed, also secured firmly to the floor, had a lumpy white pillow and matching white mattress. A circular mirror rested in another corner as well.

To Keith, it was just another prison cell.

The Buizel who had been curled up sleeping on the pillow, startled awake as his ranger partner landed unceremoniously on the bed. He squeaked in the kind of sleepy anger that would normally have amused Keith to no end. The Buizel rubbed his eyes before taking in his partner's collapsed form.

"Buizel…bui, bui?" he chittered anxiously, pawing at Keith with an orange fin.

"Sorry buddy," Keith murmured, rolling onto his back, "Go back to sleep."

Not to be deterred, Buizel jumped onto his human's stomach, ignoring the "Oomph!" He crossed his orange fins and tapped both his tails against his human's legs, impatiently.

Keith took one look at the Buizel's stubborn face, and groaned. "You're not letting this go, are you?" Buizel shook his head. "Nothing happened." Buizel glared as if to say, _do you think I'm stupid? _

"Fine, believe what you want," he snapped, throwing an arm over his eyes.

A long moment of wills ensued before the weight off his stomach disappeared. He peeked out from under his arm, curious as to what made Buizel give up so easily. Only to be greeted with impossibly wide eyes, orange fins dangling in resignation, tails drooping, and overall sadness was permeating from his partner.

Keith sat up. He could take whatever pity or sadness people threw at him even if he hated it, but the one friend he could never stand being sad was his partner. Not with everything they've been through together.

"Hey," he said, gentling his tone as he scooped the orange Pokémon up, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell."

He hugged the Buizel close to him, letting a rare moment of vulnerability slip through the cracks of his control. "I'm worried about tomorrow," he admitted softly, squeezing the Pokémon a little tighter, "And I miss Rhythmi."

It seemed like a lifetime ago he was stationed in Fiore. Having risen through the levels of advancement so quickly, had left Keith feeling bold enough to request being transferred back to Almia. It wasn't that he'd hated Fiore or the people he'd worked with or sometimes if the situation called for it, fought tooth and nail for; he'd wanted to see his friends again, wanted to flaunt and measure himself up to Kate again, have Rhythmi boss him around and be the voice of reason if things got too heated between his and Kate's many capturing contests in Ranger School. He'd wanted the old trio back again.

What a joke.

It was too early to go back, but here he was trapped on this floating prison being sent back like a naughty child by Chairperson Erma herself.

His styler caught his gaze, and held it. Maybe he could ring up Rhythmi? But what would he say? What could he possibly say to her? Would she even _want_ to speak to him with what happened in the days following his release from the infirmary? Keith swallowed dryly. Those leaf green eyes bright with shock, and tinged with the faintest fear, but fear nevertheless.

Fear of him. Her _supposed_ best friend.

He broke out of his reverie, and buried his face in Buizel's soft fur, feeling equally furry arms slide around his neck in comfort. They remained that way for a long moment, human and Pokémon soaking in each other's presence.

It wasn't long before soft snores met Keith's ears. He eased away, suppressing a chuckle at Buizel's dopey look as his partner slept hanging off of his neck. At least one of them was getting enough sleep for the both of them each night. Keith sighed and reached over to grab his styler at the foot of the bed, flipping it open to check the time.

He still had a couple hours to kill before anyone was truly awake besides the crew. He closed his styler and stared at it fixedly, fiddling with it absently. The weight in his hands felt foreign now, more of a burden than extension of himself. He gritted his teeth as his fingers clenched the styler roughly, a dark sort of anger creeping into his stomach to take firm root.

But the moment passed, and Keith squeezed his eyes shut tightly, dropping the styler so abruptly that it cracked against the floor sharply. He clenched his fingers together, trying to stop the small tremors racking them, and relishing the pain his fingernails caused digging into his palm. The pain kept him grounded, kept him from floating into oblivion.

Placing a shaking fist to his forehead, Keith smiled bitterly. Didn't he look just the picture of a Top Ranger?

Sighing again, he forced the trembles to stop before slipping off the bed to properly pack his styler away in his bag. His eyes slid quizzically to his partner who hadn't even twitched during his mini-breakdown. A pang of guilt shot through the young ranger. Buizel must have been completely wiped out from last week. Keith didn't blame him. Not one bit.

He carefully got into the bed, making sure not to disturb his partner, and focused his eyes blankly on the steel ceiling above him. His stomach twisted into a knot. The same restless, uncertain feelings he usually got before ever considering sleep thrashed about in his stomach, fighting for dominance over his tiredness. His eyes went half-lidded.

No, going to sleep meant going back _there_. To utter pitch black and absolute hopelessness. Keith swallowed harshly, perspiration beginning to bead on his forehead. No, he wouldn't, _couldn't _go back there.

He briefly contemplated sneaking back onto deck, but just as promptly, rejected the idea. He didn't want to accidentally run into Steve again, or his huge wife, Bertha. He shuddered. One death hug per voyage or lifetime was enough for him no questions asked. That woman had the strength that might've rivaled Barlow's on a bad day.

He rolled onto his side facing the wall, resigning himself to wait as the hours crawled slowly by.

* * *

**Whew! Someone's feeling angsty. But I must admit, it feeds the muse. The next chapter...which I must write...will hopefully come out this month 'cause of NaNoWriMo. But I must get my ideas straight in the form of graphic organizers! Yayyyy *coughs***

**Reviews make me happy! Please? *Puppy eyes* I wanna know what you guys think.  
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**~Kneazle-Chan  
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	2. Coming Ashore

**YES, YES, Y_ES!_ I have finally finished chapter 2! You know, this is a huge step for me because I normally stop halfway through, but not for this one! Yay! Sorry, I'm overly excited at this being released because then it relieves the guilt of not fulfilling deadlines! WHOO-HOO! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon. I just like tormenting the characters.  
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**READ THIS PLEASE: Please, please, PLEASE, if you have time after this chapter, read the huge author's note at the bottom. I have to get several rants out of the way before heading into chapter 3!  
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**Enjoy!  
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* * *

"_KEITH!"_

"_Don't let go!" _

_The sound of glass shattering and pipes groaning ruptured his eardrums. The whole Altru building was going to collapse at this rate! He tightened his grip, seeing his own scared expression reflected in vivid blue eyes._

"_LOOK OUT!" _

He jerked awake with a startled scream that was harshly swallowed back the moment he became aware of it, causing him to cough roughly. He pushed himself into a sitting position, patting his chest gingerly. When his coughs subsided, he ran a hand through his sweat-matted hair, and groaned.

Had he fallen asleep? _'Idiot' _he berated himself.

He paused before carefully touching his left shoulder blade where a stray shadow ball from Darkrai had struck. The scar was, of course, still there, a ragged burn that was the size of Keith's palm. Getting hit by dark Pokémon was an odd, contradicting feeling. First, there was fiery pain as the attack tore away skin and bits of muscle only to be replaced by a biting cold that was icy enough to burn. Add that to the fact that a Pokémon's abilities intensified with strong emotion –namely fear and anger- and Keith has had the unpleasant self-discovery on how high his vocal chords could go when motivated.

The door creaked open. Keith tensed, ready to bolt if it was the old man checking up on him. He let out a huge sigh of relief when it was just Buizel who padded through the door, arms full of various fruits.

Despite himself, Keith couldn't help the snicker that slipped past his lips. "You look like a Munchlax with all that food," he told his partner who'd jumped on top the chair to deposit his findings onto the desk.

Buizel shot him a dirty look as if to say, "_I like to eat, so what?" _

He turned to his findings and chose the delicious-looking green grapes that just seemed to call for the Buizel to eat them. Picking them up, he flicked one in his mouth to munch on it happily. He turned back to his human to widen his eyes challengingly.

But Keith only snorted in reply, and dragged himself off the bed, studiously avoiding his reflection in the mirror. What was the point? He knew he already looked a mess. He didn't want more confirmation than necessary. His hands fumbled with his bag's zipper before managing to pull out his spare change in uniform.

Since there was no official Ranger Union like in Almia, Keith wasn't exactly sure whose base he'd be occupying for the duration of this extended visit. He'd never really stuck around to ask when he was promoted to Ranger Rank 10 in Summerland.

Sighing heavily, he changed as quickly as his sluggish brain would allow. The first thing Keith decided to do when they reached Fall City's harbor was to hunt down a good café with strong black coffee. He could do with the caffeine right about now.

A horn shrieked above his cabin followed by several smaller pitched ones. They were close to landing in Fiore. Keith paused, staring at the door in contemplation. The mask would have to go back on the moment he crossed that threshold. He couldn't allow his control to slip like it had with Barton. Not again.

His eyes slid to Buizel who, sensing his apprehension, met his gaze with a determined nod, dark eyes flashing. The corner of Keith's mouth twitched upwards. His partner had strawberry juice smeared across his muzzle.

The breath he held was released in a _whoosh_, and he shouldered his backpack as Buizel gathered up his remaining foodstuffs.

"Alright," he said softly, "C'mon, let's do this."

Keith hadn't taken one step before an object whacked him in the back of the head. "Owww," he winced, clutching the offended spot, "What was that for?" he demanded, turning back to face the only possible culprit in the room.

His partner glared pointedly at him, jerking his chin down towards the floor. Following the Buizel's gaze, he realized the offending object was an apple rolling around the floor before coming to a gentle stop at the tip of his shoe. He bent down to pick the piece of fruit up, tossing it from hand to hand experimentally as he met Buizel's stern profile again.

"I'm not hungry," he said flatly.

Buizel puffed his cheeks out. Sensing the impending water gun attack, Keith held his hands up in a tiny gesture of surrender.

"I'll eat it on the way, okay?" he tried compromising.

Tucking the apple into his shorts' pocket, he resolved tossing it to the first Pelipper he came across when his partner wasn't looking. As Keith opened the door and crossed the threshold, he failed to notice how his partner sagged in relief at the mention of him actually eating something.

* * *

The cool steel door slid open silently as a pair of feet made their way over to the many computers lining the walls of the Communications Room. The person sighed as they sunk heavily into a chair and booted up the computer. The screen illuminated the face of Murph who rubbed his adjusting eyes to the only light in the otherwise darkened room.

It was a quarter past midnight, and he was a man on a mission. Most of the techies and rangers were either in their rooms or had gone home for the night which he considered a blessing. Less people meant less blundering around for an excuse as to why he was still here. He could always tell them he was staying to put the finishing touches on his various reports and proposals, but lying had always come hard to Murph.

Which was exactly why he never did covert missions back when he was still a ranger in Fiore. He couldn't stand the twisting; ugly feeling it gave him, even white lies were enough to make him look away shame-faced. It would always start small, the first lie, and grow and grow as more and more lies piled on top eventually mutating into a horrible, tangled mess that was hard to wade back out of because you were just in too _deep_.

Typing in his login and password, Murph leaned back, watching the green bar load.

He wasn't _guilty _of what he doing per say, but he would've infinitely preferred it if no one knew what he going to do. But why should he feel guilty? He was only asking a favor of old colleagues, nothing more, nothing less, he thought defiantly though his eyes shifted nervously about as if expecting someone like Hastings would suddenly pop out of hiding and yell, "HA! I've caught you now!"

A _ping_ made him jump a tad, but he calmed down once realizing it was only the computer fully on and ready. Like a condemned man, Murph placed on the headphones so no one was privy to any sound, and used the mouse to quickly click on a chat box.

A list of his personal contacts came up, and he scrolled down, clicking on the first name that appeared under the Ringtown subcategory. A ringing picked up in his ears as the call took place. To Murph, the ringing seemed to stretch on for decades. He swallowed dryly.

_C'mon, c'mon….pick up…pick up, _his mind pleaded with a desperate twinge. _Pick up, pick up, pi…_

He could've cried in relief as the call finally went through and the face of a sleepy Lunick popped up, black hair messily falling onto his forehead.

"Murph?" Lunick squinted at the camera, "Is that you?"

"We need to talk," Murph said tensely.

"About?" his former colleague rubbed his eyes as his mouth stretched in a 'o' shaped yawn, "You do realize it's like 1:30 in the morning over here, right?"

His mouth opened automatically to spit out the usual apologies, but Lunick waved them away with a nonchalant, "Don't worry about it."

After cracking his back, elbows, shoulders, and knuckles all the while grinning at Murph's disgusted grimace as he had to listen to every crack up close in the headphones; Lunick settled down with a more awake profile, cobalt eyes focusing intently on Murph's face, "Okay, let's hear it. What's wrong?"

"Do you remember a ranger by the name of Keith who transferred to Fiore after graduating from the Almia Ranger School?" he blurted out.

"Keith?" Lunick narrowed his eyes in thought, "That name sounds familiar, but I don't usually pay attention to who's transferred where….maybe…wait, hang on a moment." He moved off-screen, allowing Murph to absorb the details of the room he otherwise hadn't noticed until now. His brown eyes traced the cream-colored walls that were standard in the Ringtown base's living quarters, covered with band posters of the Chimchar Brotherhood….

Wait, _what? _Last time he checked, Lunick hated any mention of the so-called brothers.

As the sounds of rustling and openings of drawers continued off-screen, Murph discreetly minimized the chat box, and pulled up his list of contacts again, where the contact's name he was calling was highlighted.

_Ah. That explained it._

He flipped back over to Lunick the second he heard a victorious, "Aha!"

His former colleague came back onscreen in a flutter of newspaper articles. "It should be in here somewhere," he was muttering, "here we go. Do you mean by any chance, this Keith?" Murph blinked as a newspaper heading followed by a blurry picture was shoved right into the lens.

'**GYARADOS RAMPAGE IN SUMMERLAND!**' was the heading and under it was the blurry backside of Keith and his Buizel as they both charged the Gyarados. Murph shook his head wearily. Who in their right mind would even be outside taking pictures when a Pokémon of that size was running berserk?

Off to the side was another heading labeled as '**KEITH, THE NEW HERO!' **and following it was another picture, clearer this time, with Keith smirking haughtily at the camera beside his Buizel.

Eyes that used to gleam in hard won victory like the one in the picture were gone. The new Keith that Murph saw in his mind's eye was a tired and paler one with eyes that looked blankly at anyone who tried to engage him in conversation. He also didn't forget how volatile Keith had become in the last week, lashing out at anyone who tried questioning him about operation Brighton. Just look where it had gotten Rhythmi.

He rubbed his arm where a decent sized purple bruise was fading to a yellow-green color.

Or him for that matter.

But what had bothered him the most wasn't the fact that Keith had struck him, but the caged animal look he adopted if anyone so much as brought up the failed operation. No one should have to look like that. No one.

Murph wasn't naïve; he knew there were a lot of bad things and people in the world, and it would take a million, if not more, lifetimes to plug the flow, but it didn't stop people from _trying. _And he clung to the idea of pushing people onto the right path or preserving the carefree joy people got out of doing something they love. It was how he ended up wanting to be a Pokémon Ranger. He guarded this belief as ferociously as a mama Kangaskhan would her young. Keith was no exception to this rule.

Which was the reason he was calling in for this favor.

"Yeah, that's him," he said quietly.

Lunick's face reappeared from behind the newspaper clipping, grin fading as he observed his friend's drawn features. "I repeat what I said earlier: what's wrong?"

"It's a long story," Murph slumped in his seat, "A really, _really _long story."

"I can stay awake," Lunick offered.

"Please," he countered, scoffing, "You can barely stay awake when it's New Year's."

His former colleague looked offended, "It's not my fault I can't stay awake for the fireworks with civilians trying to set off their own, but end up getting hurt instead. I do not ask for all-nighters, thank you very much!"

And just like that, it was like Murph was a ranger again at the Ringtown base, bantering with Lunick. It made a lump lodge itself in his throat, and he swallowed with an audible gulp. Those days were over. He wasn't a ranger anymore. Move _on_, already.

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair, and sighing. The last thing he wanted to do was end up crying pathetically because he missed his friends with a sharp longing. He missed Ringtown and its cozy little town demeanor, he missed his leader's exasperation of him, and most of all; he missed his partner, Slowpoke.

The lump returned with a vengeance.

Lunick was watching his friend's expression change cautiously, already having some idea of what he was thinking about, "You know," he put in gently, "you could always come by to visit. Ringtown gets boring after a while without you. Solana, Plusle, Minun, and I all miss having you around, not to mention the whole town."

Murph barked out a laugh, for once not caring if he was caught, "Not Ms. Gretel."

Lunick somehow managed to pale and scowl at the same time, "She doesn't count. I mean, even Spenser is somewhat afraid of her. That crotchety old woman could give anyone some serious nightmares. "

"She likes Solana plenty."

"Yeah, but Solana is a magnet for weird people."

"Like you?" Murph teased.

"Hey," Lunick jabbed a finger at the screen, "if I have to be stereotyped, then you're joining me."

"You do realize you put yourself in the same category of said 'crotchety old woman,'" he said amusedly.

"Well, do you hear it? The apocalypse is happening outside as we speak."

"You're right. I do hear it," Murph said, letting the topic rest there. A lull in the conversation ensued. "So…" he began casually, "When did you become a fan of the Brotherhood?"

His friend recoiled, sending him a horrified, almost betrayed look for even asking. "Never, _ever,_ in a million years, I solemnly swear on Celebi, I'll never enjoy that crap they call music."

That was the cue he was waiting for and he pounced on it, "Then why are you in Solana's room?"

Lunick looked blank for moment before flushing a bright red. "It's not what you think," he snapped, dark cobalt eyes narrowing.

"I'm not the one turning into a tomato defensively."

"If I told you it was a long story, would you leave me alone?" he asked with an odd note in his voice.

Paying no attention to it, Murph replied bluntly, "No, so spill."

"Only if you tell me why you called about this Keith person," he bargained, "and don't try to tell me this call was technically for Solana because you and I both know she would've been prying you for details more ruthlessly than I do. At least with me, there's no bloodshed involved."

His hands gripped the edge of the counter, "And what if I told you I can't?"

It was quiet for a long moment. Then Lunick sighed, returning to his normal shade. "Fine," he stated flatly, "Since we obviously don't have the same level of trust in each other," he started turning away.

"What makes you say that?" Murph demanded sharply.

Lunick whipped back around, and though his whisper was low, his eyes blazed, "_Because_ Murph, you call at a godforsaken hour in the morning looking like you ran into a ghost Pokémon, and start the conversation with 'We need to talk.' How am I supposed to react? Then you ask about this Keith person who I've never known personally, but is obviously a hotshot in Summerland, and when I get curious, I'm not allowed to show concern for one of my best friends?"

He cut in, interrupting his friend's rant midway, "It's honestly and truly because I _can't_, Lunick, I can't because I _don't know_ what happened! Nobody does!" Whether it was his tone or just the desperate look on his face, the raven-haired ranger backed off.

"What do you mean?" he asked warily.

Murph sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to dispel the beginning of a headache. "It's what I'd like to know. Have you heard of any new operations yet in the Fiore Times?"

Meaning: Did any newspaper company get hold of any leaks, and if so, did it spread internationally yet?

"No," Lunick replied honestly, and Murph wanted to sigh in relief, "But then again, I haven't gotten the chance to really read the Times today anyway. Look, long story short, Spenser sent me on a reconnaissance mission in Summerland. Some earthquakes have been happening along its coast, and the most recent one was severe enough to reach into the jungle located beyond it."

"Why didn't one of the Summerland rangers take care of it?"

An almost inaudible sigh, "They were busy clearing away debris and helping out the civilians, so I was the prime candidate drafted for the duty since I didn't have any other mission at the time, and Ringtown has been quiet lately. The objective was simple: Make sure the Pokémon were a-okay and clear any fallen trees. At least it was_ supposed_ to be simple," his voice spelled out the clear exhaustion he must have been carrying around all through the day, "Let's just say, it was one of those long days where everything you do ends up going wrong, and a female Primeape now hates my guts.

"It was really late when I came in, and my room seemed so far away at the time that I ended up crashing on one of the lobby couches."

Murph raised a brow, "So how did you know I was calling?"

"I didn't," his friend shrugged in the flippant way he knew Murph disliked immensely, "I was coming back from the bathroom, and Solana's door was cracked open a tad, and I saw the call coming in on her laptop."

"Solana's going to murder you."

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her," Lunick brushed off, "Besides; she and Kellyn are still in Sinnoh."

He raised a brow though he was inwardly smiling. At least he didn't have to bring the subject around to his purpose; Lunick had taken care of it, "Oh? I thought they already finished Operation Riolu."

"Well, if you read the mission report," Lunick began, eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly. He'd caught Murph's distinctly gleeful pitch in his last sentence, and in the face of his earlier outburst, Lunick became suspicious again though he didn't let it show, "Ever since Hunter J became involved, those two have been more paranoid than a pair of Murkrows with their shiny things. They decided to stay for a few more days around the kingdom's perimeter to make sure she didn't come back."

There. He'd dangled the bait; he'd let Murph make the next move now.

But the former ranger only 'hmmed,' and seemed to be looking at a spot on the wall over Lunick's shoulder contemplatively. After a couple of minutes though it felt longer, the raven-head held his breath as Murph met his gaze steadily, brown eyes controlled and businesslike. Lunick hated it.

In the accumulating silence, neither backed down from the mute challenge of staring the other one into submission, and the gentle hum of computer software whirring away in the background was the only noise in the otherwise quiet rooms on both ends. Lunick tilted his head to the side, eyes boring into brown piercingly like the color were dirt, and he could dig up the secrets that lay underneath easily.

Murph's left eye twitched, but he gave no other signs of giving in.

Lunick amped up the glare.

Unknown to the raven-haired ranger, Murph inwardly swallowed. _Arceus_. Whether it was the way the shadows on his former colleague's end were cast or his imagination, Lunick looked slightly demonic at the moment. He wondered if he could click out of the chat box and pretend the conversation never happened, but somehow, Lunick looked as though he would tear through the screen, huge miles-wide expanse of ocean between the regions and all.

No, he told himself, straightening. A low flame of anger ignited in his gut. _I refuse to be intimidated. I refuse to be patronized. This isn't Ringtown anymore, move _on _already! _He told himself detachedly that he could pretend this was just another corporation meeting he sometimes had to go represent the Ranger Union at.

Finding a form of comfort in the thought, he sewed his poker face on more tightly, and came out of his momentary lapse of resolve. Knitting his fingers together, he rested his chin on top of them, voice coming out a lot calmer than he thought it would (which was a victory in itself), "Can you tell Kellyn to message me when he gets back from Sinnoh?"

"Couldn't you have called him in the first place?" Lunick retorted, voice coming across a lot cooler when he noted the change in Murph's posture.

"I didn't know if he was here or still on Mission Riolu. I was taking a wild stab in the dark."

"Well, as you can see," his former colleague snipped, thrusting his hand to the side as if gesturing to the base in general, "he's not. Why not call him in Sinnoh?" he added as an afterthought.

"I don't know if the place they're staying at," he responded, inwardly cringing at the lame answer.

It didn't even matter, Lunick caught on anyway, "That's crap and you know it. Why not on the Capture Styler's receiver?" he pressed, "It's connected directly with the Satellite, and if you didn't hear already, the newest app is designed for face-to-face chats."

Murph tensed in annoyance. What did Lunick want him to say? That he called because Ringtown still felt like home to him? That his fingers scrolled immediately to the Ringtown contact list?

"Because there was the slight chance Solana would answer instead if Kellyn were asleep or somehow managed to leave his Styler laying around," he responded quickly, "Like you said before, Solana is prone to violence if withheld from information of any sort, and I'd rather that not happen," he said mildly, keeping his voice low and formal.

"So why did you press her contact number if you weren't expecting her here?" The bite in every word was really starting to grate on Murph's nerves.

"Dialga's fangs, Lunick!" he snapped, for the second time that night not caring that his voice rose, "I'm trying to get as less people involved as I can! I was in a hurry; I pressed the wrong number, happy?"

Lie, lie, lie; he wouldn't have minded at all talking to Solana or any of the rangers there, except maybe Spenser. He was surprised to get Lunick on the line, but he hadn't minded. He sank into his chair, choosing instead to bury his head in his hands, waiting for the other male to call him out on his lie. This wasn't how the conversation was supposed to go: if he encountered a barrier to his goal; he was supposed to express the urgency, relay the message, maybe exchange pleasantries, and then skedaddle like he did in business meetings with important representatives or other officials.

But this wasn't a business call. Not when it didn't follow the same routine procedures he was used to dealing with day in and day out. Then again, he wasn't dealing with someone 10 or 20 years older than himself.

No, he just had to get the one tenacious, stubborn person whose mind apparently picked out facts a lot easier at night. Seriously, for as long as Murph had known the guy, Lunick always did his best work at night. Unlike Solana, who was more than half-asleep and complacent when asked to do something, the other male's mind seemed to sharpen more as the sun went down.

…or get more stubborn at least.

"Murph," the change in his former colleague's tone made him chance a look upwards. The raven-haired teen was leaning in, arms crossed with a thoughtful frown. Those cobalt eyes studied his face before they softened a tad, and then their owner spoke, "What's going on?"

"Didn't I already tell you, I don't _know-," _he said tightly.

"Not with the Keith person," Lunick interrupted, "I meant with you. No offense, but it looks like someone put you in a blender and spat you right back out. You're stressed," it was more of a statement than a question.

"I feel it more than ever just talking with you," he grumbled under his breath.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Lunick smirked, startling Murph out of his thoughts. Had he said that out loud?

He sighed and glanced at the time. A half-hour had flown by. He had to wrap things up quickly if he wanted to erase the conversation over the chat line from the Union's base hard drive.

"…should visit this weekend, what do you think?" Lunick was saying, driving Murph's train of thought right out the window again.

"Can't. I think I have a meeting that day," he said automatically.

The other male didn't miss a beat, "How about Tuesday then, next week? That's my day off. Solana and Kellyn should be back by then too." Translation: It was an invitation for further interrogation.

"I-I don't know. I'm kind of busy this whole month, and my dad wants me to visit again sometime soon to talk research-," he willed himself to stop babbling the moment he saw Lunick's face shut down.

"Alright," Lunick said, sounding as distant and formal as Murph felt, "Alright, you're busy. I get that. I mean, I'll need to make a full report for the earthquakes and that takes time. Yeah, I get it."

Before he could shove his fist his mouth to stop the words, they came out anyway, "I just don't have _time _right now-."

"No, see, that's the real problem here Murph because you never have time anymore," though the words were said mildly, the former ranger could hear the suppressed venom.

He swallowed, but didn't reply. Another tense moment passed.

Lunick sighed and ran a hand through unruly black hair. "Fine," he concluded.

"Wha-?"

"I'll pass the message on." With that, the screen went black.

Murph stared at the darkened screen, suddenly feeling worse than he had coming here.

* * *

**Ohhh, what's Murph up to?**

**OKAY! My several rants goes as follows:  
**

**1. A HUGE (And I mean ginormous) shout-out to Redwarrior702, Guest, . .Will, and SuperHoundoom who were my reviewers in chapter 1! If you guys hadn't reviewed, I probably would have just left this fanfic hanging for a while. You guys are the best and I'm sorry for the long wait! Also, a shout-out to all the views and viewers worldwide that my Traffic stats says has been viewing either Darkest Lullaby or my profile.  
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**2. I swear up and down this will be a Keith-centric story, but just to give more depth than to pound on the same character over and over again; there will be other points of views. NOT A WHOLE LOT maybe, only if my muse decides to shove another character onto me, I will obey. Plus, I've always wanted to explore Murph's feelings more after finding out he's no longer a ranger in Shadows of Almia.  
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**3. There will be more than a handful of rangers in the plot! What I mean by that is I want everyone from the original Pokemon Ranger or Shadows of Almia to make at least one appearance if not more. Which brings me to the random thought of: I wish they would make a spin-off show just for the rangers, but ALAS! It cannot be. It should be though.  
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**4. I will work on my deadline skills though I think I'll just update my profile twice a week at least to show I haven't abandoned you people or the story. That might be better...:)  
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**5. Side note: I don't know if this goes without saying, but Kellyn and Kate are going to be more than just male/female counterparts. Which brings me to this: Should Kellyn be a solo ranger? If he should have a Pokemon, I've already decided on one, but what do you think? I'm still tossing it around in my brain.  
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**6. I feel like I'm forgetting something...oh well.  
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**Review please! It makes me feel better on the inside.  
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**~Kneazle-Chan  
**


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